Shadow-Play
by vandevere
Summary: Jack McCoy is haunted. There is blood.
1. Chapter 1

He's on his way home after work. It's almost midnight, but Jack McCoy is kind of famous for putting in long hours at the office.

He's passing by the Warehouse District now, row after row of warehouses, some long abandoned.

All Jack wants to do is to get home, and pour himself into bed, get a little sleep before going back to work again.

The sudden appearance of a glowing figure, indubitably female, appearing right in front of his Yamaha, causes him to swerve, the bike colliding headlong, into a brick wall…

* * *

 _Bellevue ER_

Dr. Liam Kennedy's shift had been quiet. So, it's perhaps only fair that he should pay for it now, at the end of his shift.

The EMT's are bringing the victim of a motorcycle accident in now, and Kennedy pauses to thank the Lord that the man, roughly in his forties to fifties, had had the common sense to wear a bike helmet.

Not that it seems to have helped all that much.

The man is in total arrest. Not breathing, heart stopped.

Someone's manually pumping oxygen into the man's lungs, as Kennedy does the chest compressions, and someone else readies the shock pads…

 _Jack McCoy stands in front of the dilapidated warehouse, and he can't, for the life of him, understand why he's here. He turns, looking for his bike. It's nowhere to be found._

 _A girl stands just in front of the wall. She's short, looks to be just shy of twenty; wearing something that looks like a hospital gown._

 _A kid…_

 _Short cropped hair so pale, it looks white; especially by the light of the moon._

 _She looks right at McCoy, with terrified eyes. Then he sees the blood…_

 _She's covered in blood, from head to foot; from cuts all over her body._

 _Arms…_

 _Legs…_

 _Her torso, in particular…Just soaked in blood._

 _But it's the tear in her throat that alarms the attorney._

" _Help me…" the girl's lips don't move, but McCoy hears her voice._

" _Help me…"_

 _Then, before he can frame a coherent thought, blinding light erupts, swallowing everything…_

"He's back! Normal Sinus Rhythm!"

Everything is too bright, too loud. Jack McCoy's body feels sluggish. He can't move.

Someone bends over, blocking the light, holding his head steady, flashing a light into his eyes.

"Mr. McCoy," the man said. "You were in an accident. You're going to be fine. Do you understand?"

McCoy blinks owlishly in the bright light.

"The girl…"

It comes out barely comprehensible; has to be the breathing tube still down his throat. But apparently the man understands what McCoy was trying to say.

"There was no one else there, Mr. McCoy. Just you and your bike…"

McCoy loses the rest of whatever the man was saying as he falls into brilliant haze…

* * *

Less than a week later, Jack McCoy was released from Bellevue, with instructions to take things easy for a week.

That was when he started having the nightmares...


	2. Chapter 2

Lennie Briscoe sighed deeply. It was late afternoon, heading on into evening, and here he and Mike Logan were, out in Central Park, looking down at the body in the body bag.

 _Another victim of the Manhattan Slasher…_

This one was African American. Young, like all the others, going to college, seeking a degree in Medicine.

She hadn't died easily.

"Death by one thousand cuts," Mike Logan commented off to Lennie's right. "When are we gonna catch the bastard?"

"Don't know, Mikey," Lennie shrugged. "Let's see what Rodgers has to say when she's done. Maybe they'll find something…maybe she fought and we'll have the guy's skin under her nails, or something."

"Yeah…" Logan looked down at the body zipped up in the body bag. "Maybe we'll even be able to get the guy convicted. Put him on Death Row. See how _he_ likes a needle in his arm…"

* * *

It was evening now, and Executive Assistant Jack McCoy was sitting in his office; back to the door. He was alone, Claire Kincaid had taken the day, and Adam Schiff was in his office.

McCoy wasn't sure why he was sitting alone in his office when he could have gone to his favorite watering hole. But, in spite of no pressing cases right now, he didn't really feel like leaving the office.

His office phone rang, so he picked it up.

"Jack McCoy speaking."

"Hello..?" the voice was female, and young.

"Can I help you?" Unease flitted through his nerves.

"Help me…Please…"

Fear jolted through McCoy. He knew the voice speaking behind him.

 _But she was talking to me on the phone…_

He could hear her breathing behind him. Slowly, he turned around.

Short, with cropped white-blond hair, and pale eyes ringed with black eyeliner, blood dripping to the floor.

Her lips unmoving.

"Help me…"

She didn't look afraid now.

She looked…angry.

"I believed him…I trusted him…"

"Who?" McCoy stood. "What did he do to you?"

Abruptly, he realized he wasn't in the office at all.

In the Warehouse District, facing a dilapidated, ancient warehouse. Its door was closed, but the attorney saw blood seeping out from under the door, running in rivulets down to his feet…

Jack McCoy jerked awake, sitting bolt upright in bed, heart hammering in his chest, practically clawing its way out of his throat.

 _My apartment…_

Only a dream. Not real…

He ran a trembling hand through sweat soaked hair; looked at the clock on the bedside table.

 _5:30 AM_

First day back to work after the accident. It wouldn't do to oversleep today. Sighing, McCoy rolled out of bed, headed to the bathroom.

It was going to be a bitch of a day. He just knew it.


	3. Chapter 3

A fine early summer day, and, for once, there weren't all that many major crimes for the DA's office to deal with. Of course, the Manhattan Slasher was still out and about, but the perp hadn't even been caught yet, so there wasn't much that Jack McCoy could do about that; except pray-to a god he wasn't sure existed-that the detectives would find something.

 _Anything…_

The nightmares, about that girl with the white-blonde hair, continued. Now, he was having them every night. Even Claire Kincaid was noticing.

Claire sweet-talked McCoy into letting her take him to a Ren Faire over the weekend.

 _You need a distraction,_ she had said. _All work and no play makes Jack a very dull boy…_

Neither one of them was any kind of medievalist, but the costumes were pretty; and the booths, people selling all kinds of pretty wares, were fun to look at.

But McCoy drew the line at getting his palm read by the woman called _Anna the Wise Woman…_

"Claire," he turned to the woman who had started as his Second Chair, and had now become something more…significant.

"What, Jack? Never had your palm read?"

"It's…superstitious claptrap…" McCoy opined.

"It's also as fun as hell, Jack. And it's only three dollars."

Grumbling, McCoy swung his gaze back to Anna, who was smiling back at him, the smile just a touch strained.

 _The things I do for love…_

McCoy sighed, paid the required three dollars, sat himself in front of Anna, and let her take his right hand in hers

Light exploded behind his eyes, erasing everything…

 _Wake up Jack…_

Claire's voice seemed to come from a great distance.

Jack McCoy's eyes opened, to see both Claire and Anna kneeling over him, two faces full of worry peering down at him.

 _I'm on the floor?_

He struggled to sit, Anna supporting him.

"Take it easy," she said.

"What happened?" he rubbed his head. It didn't hurt. Not exactly…

But there was this…buzzing sensation; as if his head was a rung bell.

"You fainted," Claire sounded shaken. "You should go to the hospital. That accident was less than a month ago."

"Accident?" Anna asked.

"Bike accident," McCoy growled. "And I'm fine!"

"You weren't _then_!" Claire growled right back. "You were clinically dead for about five minutes. The doctor also said you may have suffered some minor brain trauma."

"I'm fine!" McCoy hauled himself back to his feet, and stomped out of the palm-reader's booth without a backward glance.

* * *

Later, in the evening, feeling better, a tumbler full of scotch on his sofa table, Jack McCoy was looking over some files. He was startled by the apartment doorbell.

He opened the door, was surprised to find Anna, the palm-reader standing there, a worried look in her eyes.

"I'm sorry for bothering you like this," she apologized. "But…after what happened…"

"How did you find my address?" McCoy asked.

"I looked through your wallet while you were unconscious," Anna spoke calmly.

"Claire wouldn't have allowed you to-"

"She's in no position to prevent _anything_ , Mr. McCoy."

Something akin to fear jolted through McCoy.

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

"When did she die?"

" _Die..?"_

Jack McCoy stood there, and it felt like the world was falling away under his feet.

"She's not dead. She's standing right there!"

He pointed to his right.

"I know," Anna sighed sadly. "But either she's holding on to you. Or you're holding on to her. When did she die?"

 _Claire died..?_

Abruptly, like a curtain suddenly parting, he remembered…

Jack McCoy remembered calling Claire to come and pick him up, the evening after Mickey Scott's execution. He remembered leaving the bar before she arrived.

 _To hell with her…_

He remembered saying that to Detective Lennie Briscoe just before he left the bar.

 _I should have stayed. If I had, maybe she would still be alive…_

He realized he had fallen to his knees. Anna was there, holding his hands. Claire was there too, kneeling by his side.

 _Why didn't you tell me? Was I too bound up by the fantasy to realize?_

"She's still here," Anna said.

"She was always stubborn…"

"Hey, pot…" Claire spoke up. "Kettle says hi!"

McCoy managed a pale smile as he brought up his hands to rub his eyes.

"Guilty as charged," he murmured.

 _I've lost it,_ he realized. _I'm seeing dead people…_

He had always thought going off the deep end would be just a little more dramatic than…this.

"You're not insane," Anna spoke up. "This isn't delusion. It's _real_. And I think I know how this happened. You were in a bike accident? And you died?"

"Clinically," McCoy said. "But I'm fine now."

"Except for seeing dead people," Anna pointed out. "For a time-however brief-you passed into the realm of the Dead. You entered into _their_ world, and no one can go through that and emerge unchanged."

"You're not trying to say I'm a … _Medium?"_ McCoy scoffed. "I don't have the time, or the inclination, for that kind of insanity. I'm a DA! _That's_ my job; prosecuting killers and putting them behind bars!"

"So you speak for the Dead."

"Uh…" McCoy took a moment to process that. "Maybe…in a way. But I'm no Madam Blatvasky! I don't talk to the dead."

"Then… _why_ is Claire here? And what about the other girl?"

"The other girl?"

Dread prickling along his nerves, McCoy turned his head.

There she was, the girl with the white-blonde hair, and the Goth eyes.

"You see her too?" he whispered.

"Yes," Anna nodded. "But she doesn't see me. She only sees you. You're the only one who can help her."

McCoy knelt there, shaking.

"I don't know how…" he whispered.

"Just be what you _are_ ," Anna said. "Eventually, you will be able to help her."

Jack McCoy looked around the small apartment, quite full now, what with McCoy himself, and the two ghosts…

 _What the hell do I do?_


	4. Chapter 4

Shadow-play

"When are the detectives going to get off their butts and catch the guy?"

Jack McCoy heard, yet didn't hear his boss's complaint.

Like everyone else McCoy knew, Adam Schiff wanted the _Manhattan Slasher_ off the streets, and in prison, where he belonged.

 _Hopefully on Death Row, facing a needle in his arm…_

"You still with me, Jack?"

"Yeah, Adam," McCoy roused himself. He hadn't been sleeping well these last several nights.

 _Hard to do that when you're playing host to two ghosts…_

More alarming yet were his dreams.

Always that warehouse, always with the blood seeping out through closed doors.

But that wasn't the worst.

McCoy had awakened this morning, with sore, aching feet. They were sore, bruised, and dirty; like he had gone walking through the city in bare feet.

 _Sleepwalking…_

McCoy was chilled at the thought. He'd never been the kind of person who walked in his sleep.

"Jack…" Schiff was beginning to get irritated. "Are you paying attention? We need to discuss the Taylor Case."

"Yes," McCoy collected his wits. "We don't have enough to indict yet. Cla… _Jamie_ is working on evidence-gathering right now. Hopefully we'll have something before too long."

He winced at his lapse, wondered if Schiff caught it.

 _I like her. You'll like her too…_

ADA Jamie Ross was everything an Executive Assistant DA could have hoped for in a Second Chair.

But she wasn't Claire Kincaid…

 _Claire_ was sitting on the couch in Adam's office, listening as he and Jack talked.

 _If Adam finds out who's keeping me company, Skoda would be the least of my worries…_

….

Late at night, the unmarked cruiser heading down near the Warehouse District. Lennie Briscoe was driving, Mike Logan keeping eyes peeled for _anything_ that might look odd, or out of place.

Neither man was in a very talkative mood.

 _Three dead bodies will do that to you,_ Briscoe thought to himself.

Three dead girls, none much over twenty, and absolutely no evidence left behind…

The Lieutenant had ordered all of the 27th out on this. The FBI was out in force too, but Briscoe suspected they would have no better luck than the 27th.

"Stop the car, Lennie," Mike Logan suddenly spoke.

"What is it?" Lennie Briscoe stopped the car.

"I don't fuckin' believe this…" he pointed at the deserted sidewalk, at the lone pedestrian.

"I don't either…" Lennie stared at the man, wearing a tee and sweatpants-no socks or shoes-slowly making his way to one of the warehouses.

Jack McCoy…

 _Out of all the deserted streets, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera…_

"Counselor!" Lennie got out of the car.

McCoy didn't seem to respond, just kept on walking to this positively ancient warehouse.

Briscoe made to move forward, felt Logan's hand on his arm.

"Don't touch him!" The other man hissed. "Think he's sleepwalking."

 _"_ _Sleepwalking?"_

Lennie looked at the warehouse McCoy seemed to be walking to.

"We'd better make sure he gets back to bed in once piece," he added. "You know anything about sleepwalkers, Mikey?"

"Yeah. My Uncle did it all the time. All you can do is keep them safe until they wake up."

Briscoe let out a sigh.

"Okay," he nodded. "Let's do that."

He sighed again.

 _They don't pay us anywhere near enough for this…_

He and Logan followed McCoy as he walked up to the warehouse.

It wasn't locked; but, as McCoy opened the door, it sounded as if the door was rusted right through, the thing screeching loudly enough to wake the dead.

It was pitch black inside, so Logan ran back to get the flashlights while Briscoe kept careful watch over the sleepwalking Executive Assistant DA.

Jack McCoy was pacing carefully. He seemed to be looking for one specific spot.

He apparently found it just as Logan returned handed one flashlight to Briscoe, and turned his own flashlight on.

Briscoe turned his flashlight on too, focusing it on Jack McCoy.

"What's he doing?" he wondered aloud.

The attorney was running his hands over the floor.

 _An irregularity in the floor, maybe..?_

Logan had joined McCoy, aimed his flashlight on the floor.

Briscoe heard his partner's indrawn breath.

"Something's here, Lennie!"

Apparently, McCoy's searching fingers found that _something_ too, began to prod and poke, fingers scrabbling…

…And a whole section of floor came up in McCoy's hands.

"That's it…" Briscoe walked up. "Don't know what he's dug up but-"

"Lennie!" Logan had already aimed his flashlight down into whatever Jack McCoy had unveiled.

So Briscoe looked down into the hole, saw the beam of Logan's flashlight as it played over rotted cloth.

And naked bone.

….

 _Seven AM_

Adam Schiff got out of the cab and practically ran into the _27_ _th_ _Precinct House._

Yet another body had been found. But that wasn't what set chills down Schiff's spine.

Jack McCoy was being held in custody; for what, Schiff couldn't fathom…

Lieutenant Anita Van Buren met him, led him down to Holding as she explained the situation.

"Jack was… _sleepwalking_?"

"Yes, Counselor," Van Buren spoke somberly. "Detectives Briscoe and Logan found him walking in the Warehouse District. He went into a warehouse, then started tearing the floor apart."

"I don't follow…"

"Mr. McCoy dug up a body, Counselor; and since Mr. McCoy doesn't come with either a cold wet nose, or a wagging tail, this could be problematic…"

"He dug up a…" Schiff had to sit down.

"The ME is working on the body right now. We should have answers soon. As for Mr. McCoy…"

"Is he under arrest?"

"No, Counselor," Van Buren shook her head. "But you might want to suggest he get an attorney. We're up to _four_ bodies now, four murders, and Mr. McCoy was apparently sleepwalking when he found the newest one."

"Meaning he's the nearest thing you have to a suspect…"

"Sorry, Counselor, but…yes."

 _It's not possible…_

 _I_ _ **know**_ _Jack McCoy. He's not a saint; far from it! But a killer of young women?_

 _No._

 _It's just not possible._


	5. Chapter 5

Jack McCoy rubbed his eyes wearily. He felt like crap.

He'd had _that_ dream again. The one with the warehouse and the blood seeping out from under the door. But this time, the dream proceeded differently.

Instead of waking up just as the blood seeped out, it continued on. The door slid open, and McCoy entered, following the ghost girl as she led him to a spot near the center of the deserted space.

The spot glowed, just like the girl did, so it was easy to find the subtle cracks in the floor.

Then, he woke up, and he really _was_ in a warehouse, Detectives Briscoe and Logan standing nearby, beaming flashlights down into a hole in the floor, shining upon skeletal remains.

A dead body, and this was no dream.

Now, Jack McCoy was in Interrogation One at the 27th, and it was pretty clear that he was Suspect #1 right now.

…..

"Jack!" Adam Schiff entered Interrogation One, appalled at the sight. Jack McCoy looked like hell.

Wearing tee and sweatpants, unshaven, hair all awry.

"Adam," McCoy's smile was forced, and the fear in him was clear to be seen.

Schiff took a seat across from him.

"Am I under arrest?" McCoy asked.

"Not yet," Schiff shook his head. "But you should hire a lawyer immediately. And maybe see Skoda too, while you're at it."

"A psychiatrist?" McCoy's heavy brows lowered.

"I'm told you were sleep-walking when you found the body."

"Yeah…" McCoy nodded wearily.

"This all started after that accident, Jack, and you had a Near-death experience. See Skoda. Maybe he can help."

McCoy's eyes slid to the right briefly, his head tilting slightly.

It was almost as if he were…communing with something.

"Jack?" Adam touched his hand, and his body twitched slightly.

"I'm okay, Adam."

"No, you're not, Jack. See Emil Skoda. I mean it."

…..

Dr. Elizabeth Rodgers had just completed her work on the body Jack McCoy had found. It was just a collection of bones that had been wrapped in a sheet before being interred in the floor of that warehouse.

Dental records had been accessed, the bones analyzed, and now Rodgers had a name to give the detectives, and a cause of death…

"She's Christine Teague," Rodgers informed Briscoe and Logan. "She was born in '65, and disappeared in '83. Judging by the state of the remains, she was killed around then."

"In Nineteen Eighty-three?" Briscoe asked.

"Yes," Rodgers looked down at the skeleton. She had been petite, just a touch over five feet in height.

"She was stabbed repeatedly. There are several cuts to the ribcage. Whoever did this did so in a manic frenzy. Also, the killer is left-handed. You can tell by the angle of the cuts."

"A lefty, huh?" Briscoe grunted. "The Counselor is right-handed, isn't he?"

Rodgers' eyes widened.

"You were considering Jack McCoy for a suspect?"

"Well…Until you mentioned the left-handed bit. The Counselor will be happy to learn he's off the hook."

…..

Emil Skoda had been surprised to receive a call from Jack McCoy, and even more surprised at the reason.

"You want to see me, as a patient?"

"Adam insisted," McCoy grumbled over the line. "I got the feeling my job might be on the line if I don't."

Now, the attorney was here, in Skoda's office; and it was clear he didn't really want to be here at all.

It was also clear that the man wouldn't talk until Skoda prodded a little.

"You told me you thought Adam might fire you if you didn't talk to me," he regarded McCoy, who was sitting-rather nervously-in the chair right across from him.

"So… _talk_ ," he challenged McCoy.

"It's because of my bike accident," McCoy ran a hand through his hair. "You know about it?"

"Yes, Jack. But I'd like to hear your take on it."

"It was a bike accident, Emil! I went off the road and hit a wall."

He shrugged.

"I'm fine now," he added.

"But you died, didn't you?"

"Yeah…" McCoy looked distinctly uncomfortable now. "Cardiac arrest and respiratory failure. But the doctors at the Bellevue ER brought me back, so-"

McCoy stopped suddenly, looked to his left, at the comfortable soda against the wall.

"Jack?"

Skoda glanced briefly at the sofa.

"Jack…" he asked again. "Are you hallucinating?"

The attorney was trembling. Sighing, he bowed his head, pointed at the sofa.

"Claire Kincaid…" he sighed.

"Claire Kincaid?"

Skoda remembered that day clearly.

 _Two people died that day. One by Lethal Injection, the other hit by a drunk driver._

Lennie Briscoe had fallen off the wagon, and Jack McCoy…

There had been rumors of an interoffice romance, but Claire Kincaid and Jack McCoy had both been extremely discreet about it.

 _He_ had carried on with his work, the Untouchable Powerhouse Prosecutor.

 _Apparently not so untouchable after all…_

"Why do you think you're seeing her, Jack?"

Skoda held his breath. He was looking at something he had never seen before.

A confused, utterly helpless Jack McCoy.


	6. Chapter 6

Her name was Christine Teague. Dr. Rodgers had told Jack McCoy her name as soon as he was cleared of her murder.

She was still here, in McCoy's small apartment, and the attorney couldn't understand why.

"Your body has been found," McCoy told her as she sat next to Claire Kincaid on the couch in his Living Room…

Her body had been found, her family had taken her home for burial.

 _You shouldn't be here._

The same applied to Claire Kincaid. But McCoy couldn't bring himself to send her away; if he even had the capability to do so.

The phone rang, McCoy picked up.

"It's me," Dr. Emil Skoda's voice came over the line.

"What do you want, Emil?" McCoy couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice.

In light of McCoy's confession that he was seeing Claire Kincaid-a woman who had been killed by a drunk driver less than five months ago-Emil Skoda had scheduled weekly sessions with the attorney.

Today wasn't Appointment Day.

"Adam called," Skoda said. "There's been another murder. Just wanted to give you a heads-up."

McCoy sighed.

 _Adam called Emil instead of telling me directly; wonderful endorsement of my perceived mental state…_

"Thanks for telling me, Emil," he spoke dryly.

Now, it was time to go to work. McCoy slid his shabby green jacket on, and, briefcase in one hand, helmet in the other, headed out to his bike.

…..

Emil Skoda was worried about Jack McCoy. Here in the Court-house, delivering his Summation, McCoy seemed entirely at ease, and fully in his element.

If one discounted the small, but to Skoda, very clear, signs of stress.

Still, for a man who was experiencing hallucinations, and refusing to take medications for it, Jack McCoy was doing remarkably well.

Apparently, the jury thought so too. They returned a verdict of _guilty_ in less than three hours.

McCoy smiled briefly, the smile faltering only when he saw Skoda sitting at the back.

He nodded, picked up his briefcase, then headed back out, followed by ADA Jamie Ross.

 _So, it's on to the next case…_

Skoda sighed as he stood.

Jack McCoy was a consummate attorney, exceptionally talented at his job.

 _But at what cost to his personal life? Does he even have a personal life?_

…..

Jack McCoy set his brief-case on the table, let a breath out.

Jamie Ross was setting out another folder, another murder case, an old one, but new too.

 _Christine Teague…_

She was here too, standing next to Claire Kincaid, the two…ghosts…standing by the book-case.

 _I want him!_

Teague's voice reverberated in McCoy's head.

 _He needs to pay._

It took everything McCoy had not to respond to that. But he managed.

He opened the lower-hand drawer, took out the bottle of scotch, and two glasses.

"Celebratory drink, Jamie?"

"Not right now," Jamie Ross looked over the files in the folder. "Got to go to the ME's office."

So, now Jack was alone with the two ghosts.

 _Or hallucinations…_

He poured a generous slug of scotch, tossed it back.

Then he sat back in his chair and closed his eyes…

 _When he opens his eyes again, he's elsewhere, and in a body that is not his own…_

 _Briefly, panic overtakes him, as he scrambles to find his inner balance. The body he's currently inhabiting is female._

 ** _She_** _is waiting for her date to appear. He's a doctor, and roughly twenty years her senior. Chrissy's parents are a little disturbed by the age gap. But Liam's a doctor, so they suppose he has that going for him._

 _There he is, getting out of his car, walking up to her, ruggedly handsome features lightened by his smile._

 _He takes Chrissy to this warehouse, and she thinks maybe he's got this romantic dinner planned in this warehouse. Just like in the movies._

 _Chrissy couldn't be more wrong…_

Jack McCoy jerked awake, heart hammering in his chest, practically clawing its way out of his throat.

 _The knife… the sickening sensation as it pierced defenseless flesh…_

His hands shook as he poured another slug of scotch, knocked that back too.

 _Fuck…fuck…fuck…_

He knew who… _Liam_ …was.

 _He was the ER doctor who saved my life when I had that bike accident._

Dr. Liam Kennedy.

 _Fuck…_


	7. Chapter 7

_Home of Christopher and Elaine Teague_

"Chrissy was always a very strong-willed girl," Elaine Teague said as she offered a cup of tea to Jack McCoy.

"Sometimes, too much so," her husband added.

"I'm sorry," McCoy sighed. "I know this must have been weighing on you for all of these years."

"But you found her body, and brought Chrissy back home, to us," Elaine laid a gentle hand on McCoy's shoulder.

"We simply can't thank you enough for that," she added.

McCoy nodded shakily.

The Teagues could have moved. They hadn't, just in case Chrissy found her way back; so they would be here for her.

 _She_ was here too, Chrissy Teague, wandering around the old family home. But McCoy didn't say anything about the ghost's presence. Besides, Chrissy had other things in mind.

Vengeance.

Retribution.

She wanted Liam Kennedy to pay for what he had done.

 _And that's where I come in…_

The Executive Assistant DA had a pretty free rein as to what he chose to investigate, and now that Chrissy's body had been found, he could investigate her murder.

"Did Chrissy have any boyfriends?" McCoy asked, knowing full well she had.

'There was one she was pretty serious about," Elaine Teague sighed. "He was considerably older than she was, but…"

She sighed again.

"He was a doctor, Counselor. Think his name was Kennedy."

" _Liam_ Kennedy," Elaine's husband put in. "Good Irish name. Seemed alright to me."

"Well…" McCoy stood. "He's a good place to start. Sorry it took so long to find her. We'll make every effort to find her killer."

"Thank you, Mr. McCoy," tears welling in Elaine's eyes. "Maybe Chrissy will rest once he's caught."

McCoy bowed his head.

 _Maybe she will, at that…_

…..

 _27_ _th_ _Precinct_

"Detective Briscoe!"

Lennie turned, surprised to hear Jack McCoy's voice in the Detective's Bullpen.

"Counselor! What brings you here?"

"A trail for you to investigate," McCoy handed him a folder. Briscoe opened it, looked through the files.

"Dr. Liam Kennedy?" he looked back at McCoy. "Is he our suspect?"

"He might be Christine Teague's killer," McCoy stared back at him blandly. "As for the other deaths, I'm not sure. He was Christine Teague's…boyfriend at the time of her disappearance."

"Hm…" Lennie grunted. "He's worth looking into then. Mike and I will get right on it..."

He hesitated.

"You okay, Counselor?" he added. It was only a few days after the night he and Mike Logan had found a sleepwalking Jack McCoy.

 _And the Counselor dug up a body that had been buried for around twelve years…_

"I'm fine," McCoy spoke impatiently. "Just get on the case, see what you can find."

With that, the attorney nodded, then left the room.

…..

"How's the Addams Case progressing?" Adam Schiff asked his Executive Assistant DA.

"Think we can get him to plead to Man One," McCoy offered the file.

"Good," Schiff perused the file, set it to one side. Then he let out a breath, and McCoy held his…

"I'm glad you've decided to see Emil," Schiff said.

"You didn't give me much choice," McCoy couldn't keep all of the resentment out of his voice.

"Sorry," Adam didn't look all _that_ apologetic. "I worry about the welfare of my people; both physical and mental. Since Claire's death-"

"Don't bring that up, Adam. Please."

McCoy still couldn't quite make himself believe that Claire was dead, and her ghostly presence here, and in his apartment, wasn't helping.

 _How can she be dead when she talks to me? When she still sleeps in my bed?_

"Have you even visited her grave?" Adam, gently chiding him.

Something…maybe anguish…pierced through McCoy's heart, and he bowed his head.

"I'm not…" it was so hard to say it. "I can't…"

He felt Adam's hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," the older man said. "I shouldn't have pressed. You'll do so when you're ready…"

Again McCoy nodded, feeling shaky.

"You on the Teague Case?" Schiff asked, all business now.

"Yes," McCoy sighed in relief, now that the talk had shifted to something less…fraught.

"I've got Jamie researching the closest thing we've got to a suspect right now."

"And that is?"

"A doctor who was Chrissy's…boyfriend…at the time she disappeared."

"Could be…" Schiff agreed. "Lots of young women get killed by their boyfriends…"

"Yes," McCoy nodded, and suddenly, he was assailed by guilt.

 _I didn't drive the car that killed Claire. But, if I had stayed at that bar, with Lennie…who knows?_

 _Maybe she would have lived if I had stayed…_


	8. Chapter 8

"Jack…How have you been sleeping lately?"

Jack McCoy glanced at Dr. Emil Skoda, sitting across from him; then shrugged irritably.

"Fine…I guess." He shrugged again. "Haven't been sleepwalking."

"Good," Skoda paused. Then…

"How about Claire Kincaid?"

"Claire? You mean do I still see her?"

"Well…" now it was Skoda who shrugged. "That too, but…how do you feel about her death?"

McCoy looked down at the floor, studied the carpet as he considered Skoda's question.

"She died, Emil. A drunk driver killed her. What more is there to say?"

"For starts, weren't you and she…close?"

 _Close…_

He remembered the first day they had met.

 _He'd heard the knock on his office door, as he was busy putting the last of his stuff in the cabinet under the window._

 _"Come in" he'd said as he closed the cabinet door. Then, Claire Kincaid walked in._

 _"Claire Kincaid…"_

 _"Jack McCoy…" Humor on Claire's dark eyes. "You asked for me?"_

 _"As soon as I heard Ben had resigned. Your reputation precedes you…"_

McCoy shook his head, sadly.

"She warned me…" he sighed.

"Warned you?" Skoda tilted his head.

"Yeah…" McCoy bowed his head. "She knew my reputation with my assistants. Didn't want to end up like that. In retrospect, she was right."

"Your…reputation?"

McCoy sighed again. He knew, damn well, that Skoda knew.

 _His way of forcing me to talk, damn him…_

The attorney shook his head.

 _If he wants to make it difficult for me, there's no law says I can't do the same to him…_

He knew he was being petty about it.

"Did you love her, Jack?"

Sudden fury boiled through McCoy's veins. He stood abruptly, slid into his shabby green jacket.

"The session isn't over, Jack," Skoda's voice remained mild.

"I say it is," McCoy snapped. "I'm not a box for you to open."

He stomped out of Skoda's office, the door slamming shut behind him.

…..

Detectives Lennie Briscoe and Mike Logan were waiting for Dr. Liam Kennedy at the Nurse's Station.

"Sorry for keeping you two waiting," Kennedy apologized as he walked up to the detectives.

"There was a multi-car pileup on the freeway," he continued. "Around sixty casualties to see to."

Dr. Liam Kennedy was a ruggedly attractive man, around fifty years of age; with such an open-looking countenance, that most people might have trouble believing him capable of any type of crime.

But Briscoe and Logan both knew better.

 _Given the right-or wrong-stimulus, even a child can be a killer._

"I'm Detective Lennie Briscoe," Lennie made the introductions. "My partner is Detective Mike Logan. We're doing a follow-up on a Cold Case that just went hot. We just found Christine Teague's body, and we're canvassing everyone who might have known her at the time she disappeared, back in _Eighty-three_."

Kennedy blinked at that, but that was all.

"Yeah…" he said at last. "I dated her a bit around that time. Cute little Goth Girl. The police talked to me then too. I couldn't tell them much."

"Yeah…" Lennie nodded. "we've got your statement from then."

"She is dead, then. Detective Briscoe?"

"Yeah," Briscoe nodded. "Stabbed to death, then buried under the floor of a warehouse."

Kennedy flinched.

"Yes…well…" his shoulders hunched. "I always figured she just…left."

"Left?"

"You know…went elsewhere," Kennedy said. "Went to follow her dreams or whatever. Now, unless you need anything else from me, I've got a car accident victim to look at."

Kennedy was gone, back into the ER, leaving Briscoe and Logan standing there.

"What do you think, Lennie?" Logan asked.

"His body language…" Briscoe spoke thoughtfully. "Kennedy wasn't surprised when we told him where we found Christine. He flinched, though. Could be guilt…"

"Yeah…But how do we prove it? Can't take him in until we have enough proof to make it stick."

…..

Jack McCoy let himself into his apartment. He knew what he would find there.

 _Two ghosts…one brunette, and one blonde…_

At least the murder investigation had started, and soon, Christine Teague would have the justice that had been denied her for so long.

As for Claire Kincaid…

McCoy rubbed his eyes tiredly, feeling the beginnings of a migraine.

So…

 _No late night spent working for me tonight…_

Tonight, it would be sumatriptan, and bed.

Feeling futility, he took his pills, slipped off shoes and socks, and huddled under the sheets, aware of Claire keeping watch over him.

All he felt was regret.

 _To hell with her…That's what I said. To hell with her. Then she died._

 _Why did it have to be her?_

 _It should have been me…_


	9. Chapter 9

Chrissy was apparently feeling impatient, pacing back and forth in Jack McCoy's office, passing right through Jamie Ross as the Assistant DA entered her boss's office.

She stopped and shivered.

"Jamie?" McCoy asked.

"Just a sudden chill," Ross explained as she pulled up a seat across from McCoy's desk. McCoy stared at his new Second Chair.

 _Maybe I'm not hallucinating after all…_

There wasn't much relief in the notion.

 _If I'm not hallucinating, ghosts are real._ _ **This**_ _is real…_

He was pledged to finding Chrissy's killer, bringing the sonofabitch to justice.

 _If Adam ever finds out_ _ **how**_ _I learned about Chrissy's death…_

McCoy suppressed a sigh. Adam was already doubtful of his Executive Assistant DA's sanity.

 _Back to the business at hand…_

"What's the news from Briscoe and Logan?"

"There's some news…"

"Only… _some_?" McCoy scowled.

"Well…" Jamie shrugged. "This did happen twelve years ago. It's an old case; and the information trail is rather…thin."

"Did the detectives have _anything_ positive to say?"

"Lennie…" Jamie paused to read from the folder. "He says he's sure Dr. Kennedy is Christine Teague's killer. But there's no evidence to back him up. Just his instinct."

"Detective Briscoe's instincts have proven very accurate over the years."

"Yes, Jack. But we can't get a conviction solely on those instincts. No matter how accurate they are, we'll need reliable evidence to back it up."

"I know…"

McCoy rubbed his face wearily. They weren't going to find that evidence.

 _Too many years have passed._

McCoy didn't like it, but there was only one real option left.

 _I've got to spook him._

But spooked suspects often did stupid things out of panic…

 _Like…trying to get rid of the person who spooked them..?_

"Jack?" There was a boat-load of suspicion in Jamie Ross's voice.

"I'm fine, Jamie," McCoy sighed. "Just try to get whatever evidence you can. "We'll nail the bastard, one way or the other…"

"Okay," Jamie stood, still looking worried. "I'll get back to you as soon as I find anything."

When he was alone again, McCoy looked at the two ghosts.

 _I want him!_

Chrissy's voice echoed in his skull.

He knew she wanted Liam Kennedy to pay, was doing his best to make it come to pass. But, as of now, the only way he could think to make it happen…

 _That_ was making Claire Kincaid look at him with worry in her dark eyes.

 _Don't get yourself killed, Jack!_

Her voice in his skull too, and he wished he could reassure her. But there weren't any reassurances to give.

…..

Dr. Liam Kennedy had stopped at his favorite watering-hole, a neat little upscale place that had good scotch, and good company.

 _Just a nice little drink before I proceed on to my…project._

"Buy you a scotch?" The man who sat next to him at the bar looked, and sounded, vaguely familiar; tall, and lean, with a shock of unruly black hair, and penetrating dark eyes.

"Sure," Kennedy sat back, trying to recall where he'd seen the man.

"Jack McCoy," the man offered a hand.

 _Oh, yes…_

"You were in my ER a few months back."

"Yes," McCoy nodded. "You saved my life. I would have died."

Kennedy remembered.

"Motorcycle accident. No pulse, not breathing. Glad I was able to save your life. No side effects, or anything?"

"Side effects?" The man's thick eyebrows lowered. "It's the damndest thing. I have this recurring dream…"

"About seeing the Face of God? I wouldn't worry. Almost everyone who has a Near Death Experience reports seeing that."

"No. Not that," McCoy sipped his scotch. "I find myself in another body. A girl's body. Her date takes her to this warehouse. She's expecting one of those Romantic Dinners, like in the movies. Instead, her boyfriend stabs her to death. Then, he lifts up a section of the floor, and buries her in it."

A cold sensation stole through Kennedy's body, right down his spine.

"That's quite a…vivid imagination you've got," he managed to keep face and voice straight.

"Not so imaginary," McCoy sighed as he stared into his scotch. "I went sleep-walking one night. Two detectives-Briscoe and Logan-found me in this warehouse. I apparently dug up the warehouse floor, right in front of them. That's how we found Christine Teague's body."

Now, Kennedy froze, scarcely daring to breathe. He felt McCoy lay a hand atop his.

"I _know_ you killed her," the attorney's dark eyes bored into his. "And I am going to make Dr. Liam Kennedy my Number One Priority."

Then, McCoy stood, nodded cordially, and left the bar.

…..

 _The next day_

Jack McCoy sitting in his office, waiting for…

 _What, exactly?_

The heavens hadn't opened up as he confronted Dr. Kennedy. The doctor hadn't fallen to his knees and immediately admitted his guilt.

 _But he was rocked by it._

Lennie Briscoe was right. Kennedy's body language virtually screamed his guilt.

 _But, until we can uncover something solid, something concrete, he's free and clear…_

McCoy looked at his watch.

 _Eleven Thirty-five PM. Almost midnight._

He sighed.

 _Nothing's going to happen…_

 _Nothing…actionable._

Snarling, he stood, and snatched up his Bike helmet and briefcase, then strode out of his office, and took the elevator down to Employee Parking.

He stopped at his bike, set the briefcase on the floor. That was when he realized…

 _Someone's behind me!_

He began to turn, but strong arms wrapped around him, one arm around his throat, and now he was choking.

Stars exploded in his skull.

Then there was nothing…

…..

"Damn it!" Jamie Ross cursed as she remembered she had this file-the Polinski Case-that she had to hand to Jack McCoy.

"Shit!" she ran to the office. It was late, but there was a chance-be it however slight-that McCoy might still be there. He was a notorious workaholic, and an equally notorious night-owl.

He wasn't there this time.

"Dammit!" she cursed again, as she ran for the elevator, hoping she'd find him and his bike.

The bike was there. Jack McCoy briefcase was there, lying on its side. So was his bike helmet, lying a few feet away.

"Jack?" she called out, looking around. She walked up to the bike helmet. Then, she noticed the blood…

 _Oh…my god…_

She pulled out her cellphone, dialed a number.

"27th Precinct. Detective Mike Logan speaking." Logan sounded exhausted.

"Mike!" Jamie Ross fought down the terror. "I'm at Employee Parking at Hogan Place. I think Jack McCoy's been kidnapped."

"You sure?"

"His bike's here!" Jamie snapped. "So is his briefcase and bike helmet. There's some blood too."

"Okay," Logan sounded alert now. "I'm coming right down. Don't touch anything."

"Good," Jamie Ross stared at the sight, the back, the briefcase, and the helmet.

 _Please…_ she prayed. _Let him be all right…_


	10. Chapter 10

_27_ _th_ _Precinct_

Late in the evening, Lennie Briscoe was sitting at his desk, going over his notes on the _Manhattan Slasher_.

The bastard was a real neatnik. Not a trace of a clue to be found anywhere, on any of the bodies. It was presumed that the _Slasher_ washed the bodies of his victims after he was done with them.

 _Even finger and toe nails…_

Lennie sighed, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. Then, he saw... _her._

Claire Kincaid, bending over him, hand on his shoulder, fright in her eyes. Her lips were moving, speaking urgently. But Briscoe couldn't hear what she was saying.

"Lennie!" Logan's voice shook him awake.

 _I fell asleep at my desk,_ Briscoe thought in disgust. Then, he saw Logan, the worry in the other man's eyes.

"Mikey?"

"We gotta go down to Hogan Place, Lennie. Jamie Ross just called. McCoy's gone missing."

Ten minutes later, everyone was on the scene, Briscoe and Logan looking at Jack McCoy's bike, the leather briefcase and bike helmet, both on the concrete floor, and the traces of blood.

Claire Kincaid was there too, wringing her hands at the sight.

Briscoe closed his eyes, opened them again. Kincaid was still there, and she was so frightened.

 _That's it…I've gone off the deep end…_

But she was looking right at him, most steadfastly.

 _Claire?_ Briscoe didn't dare speak out loud. But it seemed she heard him anyway.

 _What happened to the Counselor?_ He asked.

And that was when he saw…

 _Jack McCoy walks up to his bike. Judging by his expression, he's in a very foul mood as he sets the briefcase down on the floor. A man steps up from behind, and Briscoe, observing passively, recognizes the man._

 _Dr. Liam Kennedy…_

 _McCoy starts to turn, but Kennedy wraps both arms around the attorney, one arm around his throat, choking him. Then, the doctor swivels, slamming McCoy's head against the trunk of a nearby car…_

 _The attorney collapses, and Kennedy opens the trunk of the car, stuffs the body inside, closes the trunk, then opens the driver-side door, gets in and drives off._

"Lennie!" Mike Logan brings him back to now. "You okay?"

"Yeah…" Lennie stared at the empty space where the car had been. "We need the surveillance tapes."

…..

 _27_ _th_ _Precinct_

 _7 AM_

Everyone was gathered around the monitor, watching the brutal kidnapping as it happened. Adam Schiff had to sit, face gone gray at the sight of Jack McCoy's body gracelessly stuffed into the trunk of a blue Mercedes.

Lieutenant Anita Van Buren quietly took command.

"We've got the license plate. It's registered to Dr. Liam Kennedy. He hasn't reported in for work today. He's gone into hiding, it seems. Cancel all of your appointments. Finding Kennedy-and our missing Counselor-is our Number One priority."

She paused.

"Are you all right, Lennie?" she asked. "Jack McCoy's life is hanging in the balance here, and we need everyone at their best, and brightest."

Oddly, Briscoe looked to his right, at the wall. Then, he nodded slowly.

"You know…" he spoke hesitantly, still looking at the wall. "The Counselor dug up a body in the Warehouse District, and two of the other bodies were found in the Docks District."

"Meaning…what, Lennie?"

"Meaning Kennedy might be the _Manhattan Slasher_. And there's a distinct possibility that he's operating in and around the Warehouse and Docks Districts."

Van Buren nodded.

"We'll focus our search on those areas then. Remember, this could be a hostage situation; in which case, getting Mr. McCoy back, alive and well, is our first priority."

…..

There was darkness, interspersed with flashes of light, and sound…

 _Weeping and screaming, accompanied by guttural sounds that might have been a lion, or wolf…_

Jack McCoy's head throbbed mercilessly, and…something…hot and wet was dripping into his eyes.

He couldn't move to brush, or wipe it away. He was immobilized, arms and legs alike. His stomach lurched and roiled.

 _Where…_

Eyes fluttering open. Awake now…

He'd effectively been duct-taped to what looked like a surgical table, more duct tape across his mouth.

He still heard the cries, the screams, and those… _animalistic howls…_

McCoy managed to turn his head…

His blurring sight showed him another surgical table, a body duct-taped there too, but McCoy was sure this one was female, body naked, a… _surgeon_ standing over, surgical tools, clenched in his left hand, dripping blood…

 _Kennedy…He's the Manhattan Slasher…_

Powerless, Jack McCoy watched Kennedy move, scalpel blurring, as he struck again and again; and, every time he struck, Kennedy howled, like a wolf in heat.

 _Jesus…_

McCoy wanted, desperately, to unsee what he was seeing. It was the most horrific thing he had ever witnessed.

Finally, the thing was done. Kennedy bowed his head, hand dropping to his side. Then, he shivered…the shuddering slowly taking over his whole body.

He sank to his knees, rocking slowly back and forth. Then, abruptly, the…seizure…spell…whatever it was, stopped.

Kennedy took a deep breath, stood, and stretched languorously.

"Don't worry, Jack," he said as he stripped himself down to underwear. "I always clean up after."

And, so he did…

The place had running water, a shower-head hanging over the now-dead body of the girl McCoy had just seen him kill. And the man had also come prepared, with soap, and various scrubbing appliances.

By the time Kennedy was finished bathing the body, only the stab wounds were left to show how she had died.

 _If she fought, he cleaned her fingernails, and everything else. Again, the detectives won't find anything…_

That was when McCoy realized a frightening truth.

 _I'm next…_

Kennedy was coming over.

"What am I gonna do with you, Jack?" he asked, looking down at his scalpel. "Killing men isn't my thing."

He put his scalpel away.

"You and I are gonna have us a little walk out on the docks. But first things first…"

He produced a syringe.

"This is a knockout drug," he explained as he pulled his prisoner's shirt collar back to inject the drug into McCoy's shoulder, into the blood-stream…

"Once this has taken effect," Kennedy added. "You and I are gonna go out onto the docks, and _you_ , my friend, are going to take a swim."

With that tape over his mouth, McCoy couldn't even speak. Although he had no idea what he might have said, given the chance…

 _Utterly pointless anyway. I'm dead, no matter what I say…_

Darkness came swiftly…

…..

Kennedy's Mercedes had been located. In the Docks District.

Now, the entire 27th was converging on the scene.

Detective Mike Logan was moving behind Lennie Briscoe. The older man had offered to take point.

 _Come to think of it, Briscoe seems awfully sure about where he's going…_

Lieutenant Van Buren was a few paces behind, along with Detectives Profaci and Kurtz.

A gruesome sight lay just ahead. Two surgical tables, one occupied, one not.

A girl, roughly late teens or early twenties, dead body virtually bloodless, pale eyes staring sightless upward.

But she was still duct taped to the table.

 _He hasn't moved her yet. Could still be nearby…_

Lennie Briscoe looked briefly to his right. Then, oddly, he nodded, took out his weapon.

"Out to the Docks," he whispered. "He's still there…"

Guns drawn, all five snuck to the back of the warehouse, the rear exit on the dock.

Kennedy was there, bending over a body, wrapping something around its legs.

"Police! Freeze!"

Kennedy straightened, holding-of all things-an anchor in his right hand; and the body at his feet…

Jack McCoy, seemingly unconscious.

Duct tape bound his arms and legs together, more duct tape over his mouth.

Kennedy briefly looked down at McCoy, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

"Catch!" he dropped the anchor, and ran, as the anchor dragged McCoy's unresisting body into the water.

 _"No!"_

Oddly enough, that sounded like Claire Kincaid. But Logan had no time for that.

He holstered his gun and ran to the water. He heard gunshots ring out, but he only had eyes for the water.

Without thought, he dove in, aware of someone else doing the same right next to him.

He found McCoy's body, and…Profaci was next to him. The other detective quickly unraveled the anchor from the attorney's legs.

Now, they both powered back up, heading for the surface, McCoy's limp body between them.

Logan felt hands reaching out, pulling the attorney out of his and Profaci's arms…

…..

Lennie Briscoe ran up, along with Sammy Kurtz. Kurtz had shot Kennedy as he fled; shot him dead.

"Whaddya want?" Kurtz snarled at him. "Man killed all those girls and now, McCoy's probably dead too. And, more to the point, he fucking _ran_."

Briscoe sighed. There would be time, later, to deal with the legality of what Kurtz had done.

Claire was there, standing on the docks, terror and grief in her eyes.

 _McCoy first…_

He ran over, just in time to see three bodies reach the surface, close enough for Briscoe and Kurtz to reach.

Van Buren was speaking into her communicator, ordering an ambulance.

Briscoe reached out, hauled McCoy's drenched body out of the water, laid it down on the pier.

Van Buren knelt on the other side, began to tear the tape off the man's mouth as Briscoe checked for signs of life.

Nothing. No pulse. The man's chest was still.

"CPR now!" Van Buren ordered.

She did the mouth-to-mouth, while Lennie, remembering the CPR class he had taken recently, did the chest compressions.

And Claire Kincaid…

She stood there, weeping, wringing her hands…

 _Jack McCoy was surrounded by darkness, and he had no idea where he was…_

 _But Claire was there…_

 _Claire…_

 _He walked up, took her in his arms._

 _"I'm so sorry, Claire," he whispered into her hair, the perfume she always wore filling his senses._

 _"Jack…don't," she pushed him away. "You_ _ **can't**_ _."_

 _"I can't lose you again," McCoy knew that now. "I couldn't bear losing you again…"_

 _"You can't, Jack. It's not your time. You know that's true."_

 _"Claire…"_

 _"No," she kissed him on the forehead. "You have to go, Jack. Now…"_

 _Her hands came up to his chest, and pushed him away, back into the darkness…_

Doing the chest compressions, Lennie Briscoe heard a choking sound…

Van Buren turned Jack McCoy's body onto its side, and suddenly water streamed from the attorney's nose and mouth.

Now, McCoy was coughing, vomiting up all of that water.

Van Buren lifted him, held him tightly as the ambulance arrived, the EMTs running up.

The duct tape was torn off his legs and arms, and oxygen mask settled over his mouth and nose, tank turned on _max_.

It was hard to tell, given Jack McCoy's drenched state, but…

It looked like he was crying silently, eyes squeezed shut, head resting on Van Buren's shoulder, tears blending in with the rest of the wetness…

"Give me your coat, Lennie," Van Buren commanded. Mutely, Lennie complied, and Van Buren wrapped McCoy up in its warmth.

…..

 _Bellevue_

Adam Schiff sat by the patient in _ICU_ , keeping watch over his friend.

Jack McCoy had been stripped out of his drenched clothes, and wrapped up, virtually swaddled in multiple layers of heated blankets.

The head wound didn't need stitches, at least.

 _He almost drowned. He_ _ **would**_ _have drowned if Van Buren and Briscoe didn't know CPR…_

The doctors had said it was likely McCoy would make a complete recovery, but Schiff had his doubts…

 _He's died twice, in less than a year…_

"Adam…" Jamie Ross spoke just behind. "The doctors say they think he'll be fine."

"I know," Schiff looked down at the man he loved like his own flesh and blood.

He bent over, laid a hand on McCoy's forehead.

"We'll talk about your recently acquired habit of taking life threatening risks later," he murmured softly.


	11. Chapter 11

_One month later_

Jack McCoy had been discharged from the hospital the week before.

Now, he was doing something he should have done a long time ago…

At the cemetery, a single red rose in his hand, he was standing at Claire Kincaid's grave.

She was gone now, no longer keeping watch over him, and that hurt, like it had hurt the first time, when she had died, killed by a drunk driver…

So, McCoy was here, now, to pay his respects, to say farewell.

"I'm sorry…"

He knelt by the grave, laid the rose in front of the headstone.

 _You were always uncomfortable with the Death Penalty, and I shouldn't have made you go, with me to Mickey Scott's execution. If I hadn't made you go, you would still be alive…_

He'd been fairly sure they were breaking up as a couple.

He'd never been able to make a relationship last…

 _Maybe a character flaw of mine…_

McCoy sighed. Claire was gone now, as was Chrissy Teague.

Chrissy had gotten what she wanted. Liam Kennedy was dead, shot while fleeing from arrest; and Claire…

 _She's gone too, gone…wherever it is that people go when they die…_

So, Jack McCoy was alone again.

"I'm sorry…" he muttered softly. Then he stood, and looked around.

He could still see the Dead…

Most hovering near their graves, others gone…elsewhere.

McCoy shook his head, then headed back to his bike…

…..

It was a quiet evening, spent going over files from new cases. Nothing looked really big; a handful of open-and-shut cases, with the perps likely to plead out rather than risk a trial.

Jack McCoy shivered, a sudden chill taking hold, deep in his bones.

He looked up, and there the ghost was.

She looked middle-aged, and there were clear signs of physical violence, bruises on her face, bad ones…

"Hello?" McCoy set his scotch to one side and stood, resigned, by now, to his new secret role…

"What happened?" he asked.

"He beat me!" the woman wailed. "I was faithful to him, cooked and cleaned for him, even when he slept around! And _this_ is how he thanks me!"

 _A wife-beater…_

McCoy knew all about those. His own father had been a wife-beater…

 _But_ _ **he**_ _never killed my mother…_

That still didn't make what Jack Senior did right…

McCoy sighed.

"What's your name?" he asked. "And what's his name too?"

 _I promise you I'll do what I can to help, to bring your killer to justice…_

…..

Detective Lennie Briscoe was getting ready to leave for the night when his cell phone rang. He picked it up.

"Hello, Detective Briscoe speaking."

"Detective…"

"Counselor!" Briscoe was surprised to hear Jack McCoy's voice. "How are you?"

"I'm fully recovered," McCoy's voice was dry. "I've got something I would like you, and Detective Logan, to investigate."

"Okay," Briscoe dug out pen and paper pad. "Shoot."

"The victim is Linda Hayes, and her husband is Steven Hayes. Scuttlebutt says he's a wife-beater."

"You think he might have killed her?"

"I'd stake my reputation on it."

"Okay, Counselor. Mike and I will get right on it. Just do us all a big favor, and not try to get yourself killed. Got it?"

"I'll certainly take it under advisement. Goodnight, Lennie."

"Same to you, Jack."


End file.
